Micro Fiction Contest: A Sad Tale’s Best For Winter
Posted by David Duhr in 
Discussion questions: In fifty (50) words or fewer, write a scene or story that includes the phrase “a sad tale’s best for winter.” Write or paste your story into the comments. The winner will get his/her choice of books from the WriteByNight library.
Elsewhere on this blog we’ve been chatting about our 2020 writing and reading goals. Some of you are writing out your goals in the comments for some extra accountability, others of you, the shy ones, are contacting me privately; either way, one recurring theme is that you want to write more. Hey, me too! I shit you not!
We haven’t done a micro fiction contest since the 2010s (eye roll), and what better way to get 2020 started off write (eye roll) than a quickslow and painlesspainful, lowhigh-pressure writing exercise?
I don’t know what it’s like where you are, but where I’ve been, winter is holding off. Here in NYC we’re in the forties, with little snow, and on Christmas Day in Milwaukee, where I was at the time and wished I weren’t, it hit fifty-three. Santa slid down my chimney wearing a tank top and nothing else. For real. He hung a wreath without using his hands. It was awkward, but kind of cool.
This all makes me suspect that winter, when it does arrive, will be fierce and knock us on our asses.
A few weeks ago we talked about your winter writing approach, so let’s put it to the test and do some winter-based storytelling, with a little help from our old pal Shakespeare.
What Is This Contest and How Do I Enter?
In fifty (50) words or fewer, write a story or scene that includes the phrase “a sad tale’s best for winter,” which comes from The Winter’s Tale.
Enter as many times as you wish.
Write or paste your story/stories in the comments section below.
Get your entries in by the end of Sunday, January 12. I’ll announce the winner in the comments.
Our favorite story will earn its writer his/her choice of book from the WBN library, which has lots of fun new titles just begging for good homes.
You’ll Choose a Winner Based on What, Exactly?
The usual metrics: humor, style, concision (obviously). Whimsy (mine).
And I’ll take into account the number of thumbs-up each story receives. So if you really dig someone else’s piece, be a sport and give it an upvote.
Good luck and happy writing!
WriteByNight co-founder David Duhr is fiction editor at the Texas Observer and co-host of the Yak Babies podcast, and has written about books for the Dallas Morning News, Electric Literature, Publishing Perspectives, and others.
WriteByNight is a writers’ service dedicated to helping you achieve your creative potential and literary goals. We work with writers of all experience levels working in all genres, nationwide and worldwide. If you have a 2020 writing project you’d like a little help with, take a look at our book coaching, private instruction and writer’s block counseling services. If you have a manuscript that’s ready for some editorial care, check out our various critiquing, editorial, and proofing services. Join our mailing list and get a FREE writer’s diagnostic, “Common problems and SOLUTIONS for the struggling writer.”
Thanks for so many wonderful stories! I’ll read through them all a couple more times and post a winner (or two?) in the coming days, and also announce it in next weekend’s email message. I’m glad this one sparked so much creativity. If you have a good candidate for a future micro-fic keyphrase, let me know.
I couldn’t narrow it to one, gang. I had to pick three winners, and even that was difficult.
Ann
Calder
Jamie
Drop me a line at david[at]writebynight.net to claim your prize!
So many honorable mentions, among them Barbara, Mallorie, Brigitte, Adrienne.
Thanks for participating, and we’ll see you next time.
Keefraze: “They called him/her/them ‘Smokestack'”
Consider mussels clinging to their Irish farmer’s string, nourished by the gentle Connemura, happy as clams, so to speak. A Belgian calls, “Moules frittes,” and our black-shell loungers are shock-plucked from the sea, stewed and chewed without the polite ceremony of an Irish wake. A sad tale’s best for winter.
(Connemara) Shock-plucked…stewed and chewed without the polite ceremony of an Irish wake. This is beautiful.
Thank you. Please excuse a commercial message, but my publishers have put all three of my novel eBooks on promotion for $0.99. You can find the Amazon links and first chapters on my website. http://joe-giordano.com/
I must look you up..very good.
Thanks, Joe. Having just finished yet another reread of yet another Kevin Barry book, I was still in the mood for something like this.
The robot head smashed to the ice, filling its cream-colored fedora with broken circuitry and dented metal. Carlyle blew smoke from the Remington’s barrel. The Tettrazonicavarellio Family were fools. Their vaunted “Wiseguy 2050” hitbot was no match for a legendary professional. He chortled. A sad tale’s best for winter…
Robot contract killers. Good, I was hoping for another reason to fear the future.
Also, “hitbot.” Well done.
The Labrador dragged the child into the family room and found his favorite toy.
Zach held the ball over his head.
The dog wagged his tail, eyes fixed.
“Winter!” the mother said, hearing a crash.
“A sad tail’s best for Winter,” said Zach, tossing the ball over the broken lamp.
I like it. Thanks.
A sad tale’s best for winter, but this one’s brutal. “Was everything all right now?” I finish Kempowski’s All for Nothing and lie awake in bed, unable to stop seeing. My protest sign leans on the door; everything is not all right. Wind whips sickly warmth out to sea.
——————-
(This is micro nonfiction, so I’ve bent the rules a bit.)
Oh, the honesty! Let’s call it autofiction. For Christmas I got a gift card to NYRB books, so your timing here, as it is often, is impeccable. I’d never heard of this book.
Excellent piece about the book here: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/04/16/walter-kempowskis-epic-novel-of-germany-in-collapse — it includes spoilers, but the writing is so powerful (often in a deceptively simple way) that the spoilers don’t matter. Non-spoiler review here: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/nov/28/all-for-nothing-walter-kempowski-review-novel
“ ‘A sad tale’s best for winter’,” quipped the bartender.
The cop paused. “Right . . . So I picked up the kid’s legos. I was sorry, ya know, that I knocked them over when I cuffed his mom.”
“We’re still out looking for him. Cute redhead,” said the partner, donning his gloves.
Ooh, I may like this one even more than your first.
The sheets were cold, formless. An impression of his head on the pillow remained. Outside, the last autumnal hues had fallen in the night. She knew. Months ago, she had thrown a picture of them, and it shattered at his feet. He had said, “a sad tale’s best for winter.”
A lot of story in 50 words. WOW.
Thanks, Jamie. Moody.
Jamie, you’re one of the co-winners of this contest. Congrats!
Email me at david[at]writebynight.net to claim your prize
Winter’s Writing Retreat
The note I’d left on the table, “A sad tale’s best for winter,” I couldn’t bear to sign.
I crumpled one too many rejections. My “Happy fucking new year!” echoed.
Silent, shivering, naked, I made my final way across the frozen lake. Bearing happy tiding, the Mailman arrives too late.
Thanks, Dave. I love that you include titles. Always so thorough.
If you notice my story, as always is 50 words long. Having a title that sets the scene might be a way of cheating.
I’ve learned to like flash because it’s so short you can focus on every word; take one out here, ad a better one there until you get it right.
Yeah, it’s a lot like poetry in that way.
“A Sad Tale’s Best For Winter”
Mrs. Claus burnt his cookies. Elves were striking. Reindeer were sick. Bad children outnumbered the good.
At a knock at his workshop door, Santa wrenched it open. The Christmas Angel dragged a tree behind her. “Where do you want me to stick this, Santa?”
Haha, well done. Thanks.
He slouched at the bar; she side-eyed him with a questioning glance.
“A sad tale’s best for winter,” she said.
Looking up, he replied, “Here’s your winter tale. My mother died, my father left before the funeral, my best friend boinked my girlfriend, and I got fired.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
My favorite thing is that last word of agreement. I might’ve ended at “That sucks,” and I would’ve been wrong to.
He watched the older woman laboriously lean over and place a long lingering kiss on the older man’s lips.
“Will you still love me like that?” He asked as the woman walked away from the casket.
“A sad tale’s best for the winter,” his wife replied as she kissed him.
This is lovely. Thanks, Diane.
Thank you. I just saw there is a typo in the story: the first word is supposed to be “THEY” not “He”
A sad tale’s best for winter, but the spring will always come. This was my mother’s favorite saying. I didn’t understand then. Now I want to laugh. Before, I was hungry. There was screaming and burning and pain. Now I soar above my home, above the ruins of Hiroshima.
Damn, nice turn at the end. Very last word, in fact. Well done.
I have a friend I play ping pong with who witnessed Hiroshima. Days later, streams of the sick and the dying appeared in her village.
Contessa’s yowls insist a sad tale’s best for winter. The Christmas tree angel couldn’t care less, hanging by a tattered wing as the Douglas fir pitches like the Titanic. “Silent Night” on the stereo and one tinsel-tangled screaming kitten. Ornament shrapnel flies; the great hairball drops. Happy New Year.
“pitches like the Titanic,” nice. My sister’s Lab and cat, together, knocked over the tree on Christmas Eve. I have a feeling this story might come from a similar incident…
No Christmas tree here (not even a Chanukah bush), but my partner and I both grew up with cats. Your sister’s Lab and cat make a good team, though I suspect she may have felt differently.
She made soup on snowy days.
The first onion slice burned her eyes, “A sad tale’s best for winter. I’ve overlooked his drinking and spending sprees, but discovering his phone chats with women half my age is too much.” She left the onion, but took the knife to surprise him.
I feel like a lot of your stories occur in the kitchen, which I appreciate greatly. Good last line.
Good food and bloodshed; who could resist?
Love this, David. Thanks
Jan Morgan-Swegle Entry 1 How quiet the house when our children are gone. Their laughter doesn’t bounce off the walls. Their “Bozo” feet don’t clump up and down the stairs. The story of the springtime of our lives was happy and bright. But an empty house is a sad tale’s best for winter. (49 words) Entry 2 The “Me Too” movement is a sad tale’s best for winter. The actions of cold disregard for women chills my soul. I rage against the mindset that power grants perverted pleasure at little no cost to the abuser. There is a storm within… Read more »
Thanks, Jan. These are both excellent.
Her fingers clutched her already-mussed hair as she gritted her teeth. “A sad tale’s best for winter,” she snarled, “what kind of phrase is that?! Grrrrrrrr!”
Her boyfriend gave suggestions. “Something about Santa? Or, hey, how about a lonely guy in a bar?” She glared, typed, clutched, typed, growled. “Grrrrrrr!”
Haha! So meta. I love this.
A bit of editing to make it a bit more sad….
Her fingers clutched her already-mussed hair as she gritted her teeth. “A sad tale’s best for winter,” she snarled, “what kind of phrase is that?! Grrrrrrrr!”
Her boyfriend gave suggestions. “Something about Santa? Or, hey, how about a lonely guy in a bar?” She glared, typed, growled, “You’re no help.”
A sad tale’s best for winter, I remind myself. The white envelopes stuck between the artificial limbs of the ornament-less tree. My father rubbing his chest, explaining that they hadn’t been up to shopping that year, not mentioning the pains. Always a Marine, he tried in vain to walk them off.
Thanks, Robin. I like this one.
Carl coughed. Snot dripped. His grandma commiserated. “They say a sad tale’s best for winter. Lotsa snow everywhere. That there nasty cold. Must be the case.”
Displaying a shiny CONGRATULATIONS badge on his chest, Carl grinned. “My science teacher praised me for nursing an injured bird that finally took flight.”
Excellent. Thanks, Calder. I love the subtlety, the undercurrent; that kid’s got some rough days ahead.
Calder, congrats — you’re one of the winners of this month’s contest.
Email me at david[at]writebynight.net to claim your prize!
Puffy pink unicorn cover and cheap lined paper. The pixie diary barely covers my palm. A sad tale’s best for winter, but we need summer, too. Whatever she’s written, it’s magic. Her snow-draped tombstone feels warm against my back as I turn her golden key in its little lock.
“but we need summer, too.” Nice. I appreciate your integration of the phrase here, too.
“A sad tale’s best for winter,” he stated as he outlined the criteria for the next Hallmark Christmas Season, “Let’s see, we have unrequited love, false accusations, truth revealed almost too late,the final kiss. That sums it up.”
Ha, good work here. Those movies!
This time of year, there is nothing to hide behind, no thick curtain of leaves to conceal his crime. On the back porch with morning coffee, I saw the horror unfold just beyond the property line. “A sad tale’s best for winter,” Officer Whitt said as he handcuffed my neighbor.
Outdoor crime being more difficult to conceal in winter due to a lack of foliage! I *love* this concept.
A sad tale’s best for winter. At dinner, lips pucker from bitter fruit. Goosebumps disease their skin when Momma draws all three from the bath. The sheets are cold when she tucks them in, and their little bodies shiver when she tells them Daddy’s not coming home.
Ugh, last-line gut punch. And the questions it leads to! Well played.
It’s a miserbly cold day and the same coldness rejoices inside his body. Although, the stories claim he loves her, sometimes a man has no choice. To this day, no one knows where she is. But God said have hope. One day, she’ll return; a sad tale’s best for winter.
Very nice, Brigitte. Thanks.
“A sad tale’s best for winter”, he relives the moment again. “Bamn!” Then the brakes fail and the car skids off the dirt road and disappears into the night; an evil chill rips through the grey clouds. But he grabs a cold beer, and finds peace; God has a plan.
This reminds me of a story I heard from… maybe Albania? Where a man skidded off the road and into deep snow. He was totally buried in snow. But he had a whole case of beer, so he kept drinking and drinking, and every time he had to urinate, he did so onto a particular patch of snow that slowly melted enough to provide escape. The moral: Never drive without a case of beer.
“A sad tale’s best for winter” then a snowflake lands on her cheek. It’s cold but feels good.” Nothing wrong with cold, she thinks to herself.” Then she lies down,moves her arms and legs; creating a snow angel. I want to be an angel. But the evil controls her.
Ooh, great last line. Good story.
“My brother found a winning lottery ticket in a rental car,” said Sandi, slurping her hot chocolate.
Jen sat before the crackling fire. “A sad tale’s best for winter.”
The group of friends at the ski lodge agreed.
“Okay . . . When he returned the car, it blew away.”
Ha, well played.
The men beat their arms about themselves. David blew on the smoldering leaves, willing them to ignite.
“A sad t-t-tale’s best for winter,” said Jim, to pass the time.
Ben’s icicled moustache quivered. “Okay . . .” he began. “When they found the f-f-frozen bodies of the three men—”
Haha!
Agreed.
We gathered around Papa, as he settled into his chair. He scanned our eager faces and smiled, then he began, “A sad tale’s best for winter.” We didn’t expect that his usual stories were funny, sometimes scary, but always exciting. He explained, “It makes us grateful for…”
Thanks, Elli. The first line in particular is excellent.
“A sad tale’s best for winter,” he said, kicking off his flip flops and resting his feet on the window sill in the lanai.
“ Shakespeare!” shouted his son Geoffrey, named after another Brit lit icon. “So what’s to talk about?”
‘How about the twelve inches of snow up north?”
I love that the son *shouts* “Shakespeare.” Good work.
Polyamory
Gwen desperately sought a job during Christmas season.
Slogging through slush to the toy store where she’d landed one, she
cursed, “A sad tale’s best for winter.”
Tasked with displaying the stuffed animals, her boss interrupted her by
sputtering, “What’s this”? while motioning to the menagerie humping
each other.
“Polyamory”?
Haha. But what makes her so sad about stuffed animals going to town on each other? There’s more to this story–damn me and my word-count max. (Or maybe it’s the job itself?)
I Enjoyed the imagery ! Want more!
Five squirrels unable to move, with their tails stuck under the weight of the freezing rain that has sealed their fate, except the one who’s tail was lost in the fight. A sad tale indeed but seems a sad tail’s best for winter in this case, so the hawk feels.
I love it. Thanks, Robert.
The visible spectrum bath from snowstorm and daylight magnify Mona’s emoting face. With two shakes he is alongside her, overcome himself with a brand new story for the season. So he begins with: Mona was in Hades…and they share the wisdom that a sad tale was best for winter.
This is great, Torria. Thanks.
And thank you David; this was so much fun – so priviledged to be among such creative writers on this platform. A happy, happy writing new year! to you too.
“A sad tale’s best for winter” and upon reading that line, he closes the book and turns on the news. ” A tornado may hit the small town of Lester. So, be prepared.” And remember the bible says, “Fear is Natural”. God loves you.” Bow your heads and let’s pray together.
Thanks, Brigitte. I love the idea of reading Shakespeare as a form of tornado prep!
“A sad tale’s best for winter”.
” Who wants happiness? Besides, happiness is fleeting. And for that matter, feelings are NOT facts! And feelings change often. In addition, feelings make us human. I finally understand how decades of therapy helped change my perspective on life and allowed me to be honest.
Good work, Brigitte. This is a fertile week for you! I’m glad this prompt got you writing.
A sad tale’s best for winter but the day Mama stole a truck from the ‘asylum’ and went searchin’ buck nekkid for her children was in the thick of a Tennessee summer; it was the most grievous time of my very young and her very turbulent life.
Excellent, Janne; I love the pivot.
A sad tale’s best for winter, but begins on the first day of fall when he drew a sweater from the chest. Inhaling cedar and her gardenia perfume, he grew weak. Last year she unpacked the sweaters and placed them in the dresser, but she was dead by winter.
Damn, good work here.
Anna barked at the waiter, her eyes inscrutable behind dark glasses. He retreated in confusion. What could be wrong? The maitre d’ then raced over with a silver platter displaying a dancing, laughing escargot wearing a tuxedo. Anna visibly brightened. The waiter remembered his Shakespeare. “A glad snail’s best for Wintour”.
Well, this is pretty great. Though I wonder what might’ve happened if she’d found the tuxedo unfashionable, despite the snail’s gladness.
Murderella was feeling the season. Valentine’s Day. Blah. As much as she loved Dwayne-o, she wondered what it would be like to be married to a man with hair and teeth. She fantasized about Lemmy and Keith Richards. Now THERE were some sexy septagenarians!. A sad tale’s best for winter…
I can’t say for sure, but I believe this is the first Lemmy appearance on this blog. So, I appreciate this.
Ok. David…and here’s the second…
In the dark, he snuffed the butt and hit the Jack, slamming the fifth down on the Marshall. Pappy screamed the band’s name and the Supertroopers ignited. Lemmy grimaced and began “Capricorn”. The sardonic. existential lyrics perfectly suited his mood. Merry Christmas. Bah, humbug. A sad tale’s best for winter…
Kamala: …happiness year ’round…be also sad tales?
Sage: Perennial, no! A sad tale was best for winter. As winter settles, the jays appear, their invitation is to purge and clear. As when all begin to melt and voila! the spruce emerge, the wren sway the mind to surge.
This is a pretty one; thanks, Torria.
I gulped another beer; stumbled against the table. Christmas brought bitter, depressing, comatose weather. From six to fifteen my uncle took me to the basement to give me my Christmas present. Tears wormed into my mouth. I sighed hard. This holiday would be different. A sad tale’s best for winter.
Wow, Barbara. Great entry; this one packs a real punch.
Myra eyed Demetrius, shivered. A sad tale’s best for winter. He’d despised her cat; kicked gentle Ophelia savagely. Myra nursed her as she’d attended the ancient Demetrius, feeding him, dressing his sores. With Ophelia dying, Myra swabbed her infection. Now spring loomed and Demetrius lay dead. Cat scratch fever. Meow.
Good one, Ann. I love the turn at the end.
Deirdre disappeared down Ali’s snowy country road: lifelong friends now doctor/patient. Tonight Deidre’d asked a favor; Ali couldn’t cure Deidre nor legally end her suffering.
The punctured tire’d flatten; Deidre too weak to walk.
“A sad tale’s best for winter,” Ali thought gripping Deidre’s phone; praying she’d succumb to exhaust fumes before freezing.
Wow, this is *excellent*. A clear contender. Can you can knock off four words to meet the max? Won’t be easy; I can’t imagine what they’d be. (Maybe “Tonight” for one?)
I’ll try. My computer gave mw a word count of 53, so using the college “articles don’t count” rule, I didn’t include the two a’s and one the in my total. I’d considered removing snowy, country and tonight, but I was trying to make it clear that she was on a dark, cold, isolated road. No one will drive by and no where to seek help. I’ll work on it. Are you insisting on counting the articles?
Deirdre disappeared down Ali’s road after asking a favor. Lifelong friends now doctor-patient; Ali couldn’t cure Deidre nor legally end her suffering.
The punctured tire’d flatten; Deidre too weak to walk.
“A sad tale’s best for winter,” Ali thought gripping Deidre’s phone; praying she’d succumb to exhaust fumes before freezing.
MY COMPUTER GIVES ME A WORD COUNT OF 50 ON THIS VERSION.
One last word of explanation before midnight: according to the NY Times Manual of Style and Usage, the hyphenated word “doctor-patient” is one word. It doesn’t refer to two people, but to a single relationship. That should qualify my piece for the 50 word limit.
Perfect.
Probably no surprise, Ann, but you’re one of the winners of this month’s contest. Congrats! Email me at david[at]writebynight.net to claim your prize.
Fading
Keeping his face soft, he adjusted her pillow, settled close on the bed, and took his wife’s hand. “Sad or merry?”
“Sad, she said. “A sad tale’s best for winter.” He gazed out the window, gathering the story. Autumn leaves still clung to the trees, but winter was coming, indeed.
This is pleasant, Lori. In a sad way, of course. Thanks.
“A sad tale’s best for winter.” “I don’t understand, mommy! Why is sad BEST ?” My youngest daughter cried. “I like happy! Sad is NOT happy! Bamn! The door slammed. My husband woke up. “What the heck is wrong? ” he screams. “Oh, there’s nothing wrong. Everything’s fine. Things are just fine.”
“A sad winter’s tale is best.” There was banging on my front door.”Mam,open up! It’s the police. Your neighbor’s dog keeps barking. Know what happened?” “Yes, I broke into their house because I ran out of sugar. I couldn’t make Christmas cookies. I wouldn’t dare disappoint my family.”
This sad tale’s best for winter – The January wind blustered. Decayed musk and pong filled your nostrils before seeing the giant, iridescent colored eyes encircling you. The eyes glowed, motionless, and soundless. No torsos, limbs, or faces – just terrifying, concave, rainbow-like eyes surrounded and glowered at you.
After landing on her butt and sliding down the icy driveway, she glided into the street. Leaning on one side, she tried to lift but dropped back on the black ice; glanced at her full-figure body. A sad tale’s best for winter. I hope my neighbors aren’t spying.
San Francisco, 1966:
“What y’all do for fun ’round here?”
“We swallow synthetic fungi and see God, while listening to the Dead!”
“Wellll, back in Indiana this time of year we hunker down and wait for the snow to melt.”
The barefoot blond blinked. “A sad tale’s best for winter”.
Seeking Arctic Redemption
Whatever prompted him to remember that line “a sad tale’s best for winter” while
offing himself at an arctic meteorological base? Maybe he’d always been the batshit crazy guy?
The white pills washed down with tequila left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Anticipated images flashing before his eyes? Nada.
It has not stopped raining.
“I’ll move back to Hawaii, live on the beach for a while,
lots of people do it. It’s the place to do it. I’ll find myself,
there.”
As the great Gil Scott Heron penned:
It’s winter in America.
The name of this tale, is heuristic.
Here’s an entry from Joanne, who emailed her story before the deadline:
“Stop screeching! Get out!”
I was cleaning my great-aunt’s sailboat, so I could sell it. That night, the bedraggled crow flew into the cabin from nowhere screaming: “A sad tale’s best for winter”—at least, that’s what it sounded like.
I was not happy. Besides, it was July.
Interesting Joanne, very interesting indeed.